Hands on Experience
by the.clairvoyance
Summary: There was a gentle rhythmic tap at the window; the very sound that  Aaron's whole world had been crashing down around him. Aaron Hotchner is caught shaking hands with Mr. Happy.


**Hands on Experience**

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned Criminal Minds but alas I do not :/

**Genres:** Friendship/Humour.

**Rating:** 14 Advanced for some language and inexplicit content.

**Prompt:** Smut Club Challenge! **Place: **SUV. **Euphemism: **Shaking hands with Mr. Happy.

**Summary: **There was a gentle rhythmic tap at the window; the very sound that singled Aaron's whole world had been crashing down around him. Aaron Hotchner is caught shaking hands with Mr. Happy.

**Author's Comment: **I have read many wonderful stories that involve steamy stakeouts and how two terribly repressed FBI agents get it on like teenagers in the backseat of the car that are witty and well written but I thought, given the scenario, I would try and put a new spin on it. I wanted to stay true to that buttoned up idea of SSA Aaron Hotchner as well as the class of Emily Prentiss so I hope that this does it justice. And I hope that for how inexplicit it is you all still enjoy reading it :D.

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_"__We have reason to believe that man first walked upright to free his hands for masturbation."_

_~ Lily Tomlin_

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* * *

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They were b-o-r-e-d… _bored._

Side-by-side, Hotch and Prentiss sit in a dull silence; the only thing keeping the two agents from committing a double suicide born out of sheer boredom alone is the fact that they both _need_ to nail this guy. The Unsub, a handsome and cunning young man, had made the monumental mistake of rubbing both SSA Aaron Hotchner and SSA Emily Prentiss the wrong way, and not just in the usual slime ball Unsub kind of way that the FBI agents are accustomed to either. Nope, this son-of-a-bitch had decided to make it personal. Clearly this 'genius' had not thought about the consequences of maddening two already fairly short-tempered agents.

By being someone with both basic common sense and a libido the Unsub du jour had made the glaringly obvious observation that Emily was not only a _breathing_ female human but a breath taking one at that; just his type, so it seemed. The scumbag, apparently not at all bothered by the scathing death glare that Emily had been sending in his direction the entire time that she and her boss had been questioning him, had the _nerve _to hit on her as if he truly believed he had a chance in Hell that Emily was _really _going to respond to such a sleazy attempt to pick her up, in front of a pissed off FBI agent with two service weapons no less!

So much for 'cunning', huh?

Yes, Mister Sculpted-From-The-Hands-of-God-Himself had been _flirting_ with Prentiss, or at least _trying_ to despite her constant shutting down of his advances. One had to be there in person to get the full affect of the situation but it was something that, if Hotch had not been too busy making an effort to puzzle out the sick S-O-B's mentality and was more prone to outwardly showing his amusement as a person, would have found quite amusing to watch. The brunette woman, all too familiar with the likes of these kinds of _men_, had managed to keep her cool through out the questioning, not faltering when the Unsub gave her lewd looks or made incredibly inappropriate propositions.

Every time that the man sent the female agent a suggestive look or made a flirtatious comment she would find a new and clever way to turn him down and spin the conversation back to the topic at hand; the deaths of two couples of women, each with varying skin tones and hair/eye colours, missing any kind of connection other than the fact that they were either openly gay or on the down low about it. Playing good cop/bad cop, Prentiss had hinted more than once to the idea that he was murdering these women because he couldn't turn them on and had, like she had, rejected him.

Suitably displeased with the Unsub who thought that he could get away with making a pass at one of his agents, Hotch had found it deep inside of himself not to interject the questioning by dragging Prentiss out of the interrogation room so that he could show that _man_ how an agent—and a woman—should be treated and that was with _respect_. Hotch was chivalrous that way. However, Prentiss had proved herself perfectly capable of handling Unsubs and louses of all shapes and sizes time and time again so Hotch had known better than to let her think that he doubted her during the questioning, which, of course, he had not.

So between the two agents there is a mutual feeling of unfiltered and unspoken of hatred for their current Unsub, one that has lead them to the very car in which they are currently occupying.

"Can you believe that skeeze?"

Okay, so not so unspoken of.

"Viper probably took lessons from that guy!"

Ah yes, the infamous _Viper_. Neither of the dark haired agents thought they would ever be able to forget about that particular Unsub, after all, how exactly does one wipe their memory clean of such an _unbelievable_ man? Seriously, how? Prentiss wants to know; the very recollection of that snake oil salesman is enough to give her nightmares that put other case related terrors to shame.

"You were right in there, you know." Hotch replies and although his voice is void of any kind of emotion, as to be suspected, Prentiss is surprised enough to cock an eyebrow in his direction.

"How's that, sir?"

It is totally unintentional, Prentiss' use of the word 'sir' that is, but by this point in their relationship—if one could even call it that—Hotch thinks that term would not be spoken much out of completely professional context and when they are where they are, which is in the dark of the night and a tiny car, the unit chief doesn't consider it a situation where formalities are necessary. Never let it be said that Aaron Hotchner does not know how to shed from his Unit Chief alpha-personality but he digresses.

"He couldn't handle those women rejecting him and now, because we have no probable cause for a search warrant and there is no physical evidence thus far, we have to wait on him."

Which is what they are doing right now. Parked next to the curb of a semi-busy street outside of the Unsub's apartment, Hotch and Prentiss are sitting in a car that is nothing like their usual FBI mandated sport utility vehicles that the man and woman find they are missing more than they thought they would. The car that they are now sitting in was made in the early 2000s and fits five; it is close to the ground and is a dark colour so that it can blend right in. There are absolutely no defining features and although the licence plate is legitimate if it were to be searched in one of Garcia's many search engines it would pop up to a fictional character that lived on some made up street in Quantico. Hotch, unsurprisingly, is seated in the driver's seat and from her spot in the passenger seat Emily wonders if it is some kind of inherent rule that men get to drive.

"You think he's going to slip-up?"

"He will, Prentiss. I wouldn't worry about it."

Nodding along to her boss' lame attempt at what Emily can only assume is comfort or assurance, the lady profiler feels a small smile tug at the corner of her lips as she speaks a thought that has entered her mind aloud instead of thinking it over first.

"And if that fails I could always tug my tank top down and promise a conjugal visit."

It should not be as funny to him as it clearly is and apparently Aaron is not the only one who is surprised by his uncharacteristic enjoyment since Prentiss is now gawking at him just enough to draw attention to herself. Once Hotch's light chuckling—well what else could one expect?—subsides the dark haired, dark eyed profiler turns to his female counterpart and does the best impersonation of "what are you looking at?" known to mankind. She just blinks and shakes her head in that way of hers, blurring the line between stunned and letting it go.

"You know what, Hotch?" Emily asks after a few moments of more comfortable silence.

Hotch turns at the sound of someone speaking as well as at the use of his name which he has just now realized sounds so much better on that woman's lips than any thing else she has said tonight.

Keeping his expression wonderfully neutral, the unit chief replies in an entirely too deadpan tone of voice. "No, what?"

Continuing on her half of the conversation without fail, as if her boss hadn't just played his typical pokerface card, Emily bounces the back of her skull against the headrest of the passenger seat.

"I have never been so bored in my life and I've been attending my parent's functions for as long as I can remember."

Turning his attention back to the windshield of their covert vehicle, Hotch doesn't even blink as he responded to his dispassionate partner. "Don't worry, I won't take that comment too personally."

"Oh it has nothing to do with you Hotch—" Emily begins just as Aaron expects her to.

Now Prentiss may not believe that it is true but she, like most human beings, is a creature of habit. Similar to the rest of their little team, family, tribe—_whatever_—the feisty brunette has her own little rituals and eccentricities that make up her every day life and whether or not she actually cares to notice or accept them is a moot point. Everything from how the woman prepares her coffee to the orderly way that she packs her ready bag is based on her own arbitrary agenda, one that dictates how neat or messy her penmanship may be one day to her reaction to thinking that she may have offended him by something that she has said.

The very thought of it is ridiculous at any rate, as if the ambassador's daughter could honestly offend him—not unintentionally anyway—since Aaron would not put it past Emily Prentiss to be the kind of woman to speak her mind no matter how scathing it may be when she wants to drive a point home. In instances like these however, Prentiss is not her usually confidant, ballsy and generally badass self. And yes that is a description that one Penelope Garcia would be more likely to use than the fearless leader of the BAU, a truth that the unit chief is very aware of but ignores nonetheless. Instead Prentiss is displaying (and it doesn't matter how scarcely) a more vulnerable and compassionate side of her that Hotch would like to see more of, not that he would ever vocalize that wish.

"Because _really_ if I had to be stuck in a stakeout with anyone it would be you…or JJ."

Smirking a bit, Hotch keeps his attention trained forward instead of on the now much less anxious agent sitting beside him. "Why's that?"

"JJ and I can make girly fun then, you know like celebrity gossip and articles that we read in Cosmo. Stuff like that."

Hotch understands this and Prentiss _is_ right because that is "girl" stuff compared to what he is used to. Aaron can remember how his then-wife Haley used to chat away on the telephone for what felt like _years_ or would sometimes sit in a folding chair with a few friends during the nicer summer weather. They would have the garage door open so that they could look out on the street while they drank margaritas at four o'clock in the afternoon, sunbathing and talking about everything under the sun.

At some point in his life, either as an adolescent or adult, Aaron had given up trying to figure out what it was that women could keep talking about since they _surely_ had to have run out topics at some point. Frankly, when it came to conversing with the males of species Hotch pretty much stuck to the universal, if not cliche, "man" topics: sports, work, alcohol, and women. The male agent tries to think of Prentiss doing something like that and it actually surprises him how easily the image comes to his mind.

It is fresh and vibrant, so real that Hotch cannot help but want to reach out and touch it. A bottle of icy water sweating in her one hand while the free hand gestures away, bringing whatever story that she is telling to life. Under the hot summer sun sweat would cause her hair to frizz but she is smiling and laughing anyway. In the fantasy Aaron can see Emily wiggling her toes without shoes on and swaying along to the radio. Maybe there is even a magazine resting on her abdomen or flung over the armrest of her reclining lawn chair, which the lady agent would complain is sticking to her skin but will refuse to part with since she is just _so _damn comfortable letting the sunlight lick her from top to bottom.

"You could always do that with Garcia." Aaron points out as he double checks that the figure he saw come out from the shadows isn't their Unsub and he is kind of disappointed when it turns out to be a young woman heading to her car instead.

Emily smirks at the very _idea_ of she and the buoyant technical analyst waiting on an Unsub. It _is_ a rather amusing concept. Redirecting her attention to the windshield, Emily mimics her boss' actions and answers him.

"I _could_ and we _do_ but I think Pen's been diagnosed with ADHD; she just might explode if she were forced to sit here and be _patient._"

Raising an eyebrow, although Prentiss cannot see that he had, Hotch bites back a comment about glass houses and throwing rocks.

"So why me then? In case you hadn't noticed Emily, I'm not exactly known as being the life of the party."

The comment is jokingly self-deprecating, they both know that, but that doesn't keep Emily from feeling just the tiniest bit of guilt. Maybe it was because the is that her boss can be _very _clever if the mood strikes but unfortunately, in a job that involves seeing what they see, day in and day out, it can be difficult to find a time for comic relief. Besides that, Hotch has never been the most open person, which is _especially_ when it comes to emotions, that Prentiss has met but it seems as though they have that much in common.

The brunette woman wonders if the stoic unit chief used to smile more, as in before she showed up as a member of the BAU. _Probably._ The thought leaves a bittersweet taste on the agent's tongue (something that the BAU's resident boy genius would tell her is a product of her imagination since a thought can't _actually _register real flavor, only the memory of it) and it brings her right back to the first time that she had seen Aaron Hotchner in what had to be a _decade._

Just like he is now, Hotch had been the epitome of professionalism when they shook hands in his office that morning, but there was also something else in his voice, in his eyes, something beyond his immaculate suit and his respected title as the head of the FBI's behavioral analysis unit. He had been borderline _friendly _when asking Emily about her parents and her career, interested even though, at the time, he was obviously confused as to what a woman he had not seen in years was doing in his office with a box full of her stuff.

Frankly Emily did not blame the unit chief at all since she happens to believe (rather whole-heartedly) that a Section Chief should not be allowed to hire agents for a unit without giving her employees so much as a heads up. Emily refuses to acknowledge how quick she was to ignore that it was a bit naive of Hotch to think that there would not be a replacement hired some time soon after Elle left. The BAU is fairly short-handed compared to other departments in the first place which begged the question if a six man operation would have been enough; thus the arrival of one SSA Emily Prentiss.

And yet what had begun as an almost amiable beginning had soon taken a turn for the worst by spiraling into a distrustful, unemotional, and overall frustrating "relationship" between the two dark haired and dark eyed agents. Emily had been intent on proving herself as a competent and loyal agent and maybe even—God forbid—a _friend. _During her first few weeks as a member of the BAU Emily had put a hundred and ten percent for everything she did even when she was under the careful eye of her superior, who clearly did not know what to suspect from her. As if she was going to share state secrets or steal away his puppy in the middle of night. Who did he think she was: some undercover Unsub?

Yeah right, like she would put up with all of his bullshit if all she wanted to do was play Strauss' puppet. How degrading.

On the other hand Hotch had been determined to figure out just what, if anything, Emily Prentiss was up to. Okay so that made it sound as if Aaron had suspected the worst from the woman, which he really hadn't. _Really._ The fact of the matter was that the FBI, much like the rest of the world, played politics and that meant playing dirty.

The daughter of diplomats could have any cushy job that her heart desired and in fact it would not have surprised Aaron one bit if a young Emily Prentiss had been courted numerous times for the sake of politics, not to say that a lady of her caliber would fail to find a suitor any other way; she was a rather attractive woman after all and one with many attractive traits, not to mention her impressive interrogation and gun wielding skills that is probably only stimulating to someone in the field.

So why would she want to subject herself to what the saw on a daily basis? As it turned out it had been for the same reason as the rest of them.

In the moment that Aaron had realized that the ambassador's daughter _could_ be trusted, which was likely around the time that Prentiss was practically forced to transfer out of the BAU and Hotch was considering some nine to five job that would have pleased Haley immensely, Hotch had been worried that it was too late to salvage either of their jobs as well as their professional relationship, if one could even call it that. However, thankfully, he had been incorrect about _everything._

After they were both accepted back to their usual titles (although it was not exactly with open arms from Section Chief Erin Strauss) things appeared to be looking up for both he and his intrepid agent Prentiss. And over time they seemed to have reached a point where they could both say without hesitation that they were friends. Not a huge feat for most people but a great accomplishment for the two most stubborn profilers known to the FBI. _Alright,_ David Rossi still holds that title but that kind of went without saying.

"I don't know about that," the brunette woman responds, trying and failing to sound nonchalant as she does so. "_I'm_ having fun."

This elicits a curling of the lips, a real smile, no matter how small, on her superior's usually expressionless face. Emily almost doesn't believe it. "Me too but I don't think that is the objective of us being here."

Shrugging off the reality of Hotch's reply, Prentiss taps her elegant fingers against her kneecaps, the gear shift, and the door handle.

"Trust me," she speaks and her voice is low with warning and a bit with understanding, as if it is an impending doom that she has seem coming the whole time. "We could be_ much_ worse."

Interest piqued, Hotch looks to his friend with an inquisitive look. "How do you mean?"

And then, in that exact moment, Hotch can feel that same impending doom that he had just tacked to her tone. Something inside of him knows that he _really_ shouldn't have asked, if the wicked little grin that is twisting Prentiss' features is anything to go by. Dear God, why hadn't he dragged along Morgan or Dave? Oh hell, at this point the unit chief would take the statistics prattling, borderline neurotic, certified genius of their team.

"Oh I think you know the tale," Prentiss teases mercilessly. "But I could always retell it for you, refresh your memory, you know?"

Before Aaron can get a single word of argument out Prentiss is already beginning the story with the classic "once upon a time" line.

Sweet Jesus, _why_ had he brought Prentiss of all people?

* * *

It was one of his first assignments and back even then he was excited to get right to work.

Aaron Hotchner had been thrilled to have such an important posting, surely a once in a lifetime experience for him, and he had no intention of screwing it up. Working for an ambassador and a diplomat, what a world. Not that Aaron was too wrapped up in VIPs and politics, even back then, but it_ was _pretty exciting to work security for such successful and important people, namely the ever so prestigious Prentiss family. The heads of which were the world renowned Edward and Elizabeth Prentiss, two incredibly powerful and equally as intimidating diplomats.

There was a long ancestry of prosperity connected to the surname Prentiss, rooting all the way back to the Mayflower if Aaron had not been mistaken. And it was painfully clear in how they had presented themselves; regal, tactful, adept, and above all else _exceedingly_ professional. They had been right up Aaron Hotchner's alley back then and once their daughter had become the newest member of his team.

They had been welcoming, gracious, and polite, just as all members of the upper class ought to be. Edward Prentiss had welcomed the new security clearance team drinks (non-alcoholic of course, since they _had _been on the clock) and his impressive ambassador wife had offered them a tour of the grounds which, unsurprisingly, no one had refused. It was difficult for Aaron to grasp that anyone could live in such a palace and not be considered royalty, although he had imagined that with all of the travelling that the Prentiss family did their conditions wouldn't always be so high maintenance. If it had been Aaron in Ambassador Prentiss and her husband's place he wouldn't have ever left the house since it was just _that_ unbelievable.

Unfortunately Aaron was_ not _in Edward and Elizabeth's place and was, instead, in the driver's seat of an SUV parked outside of the grounds. He had been working security clearance, not a bad job all things considered, and a stake out wouldn't be all that bad if it weren't so_ boring._ Why did nothing interesting ever happen on his shift? Everyone else had stories to tell over drinks and games of pool. Wesley had an attempted break in and Jacobs was propositioned by a prostitute but the best had been Wireson, who was showered in glory for busting some underage kid for drunken and disorderly conduct.

Not that Aaron had necessarily _wanted _to praised, even back then, but he had just wanted a little excitement. In fact, at the time, he was _dying_ for something to do. A young Aaron Hotchner had wanted to blast the radio but that was a bad idea for obvious reasons (attracting attention to oneself is kind of the opposite of surveillance) and he had also considered slipping out of the vehicle in order to get some fresh air but he hadn't wanted to leave his post just in case something came up, which he had seriously doubted would.

With his eyes closed Aaron had decided to think of one of the few things that never ceased to entertain him or any member of his gender.

Yeah... _that._

He had started out slow with simply fantasizing of women that he was familiar with; airbrushed models that he had only recognized spread across centerfolds, tipsy and teasing college girls that he had seen dancing and drinking at bars, as well as his own high school sweetheart Haley. Once the picture had been planted like a seed in his head Aaron, like most men, was too weak to resist.

There had been imaginary kisses and nips, slipping shirts and skirts off of porcelain skin, and of course the fumbling to get both their underwear off as quickly and efficiently as possible, which usually meant _ripping_ it off not that Aaron had minded _at all. _The Hotchner men had never been known for their ability to wait for _anything_ and that made Aaron a very impatient young man when it came to encounters with the opposite gender but back then he had considered it an_ endearing _quality.

It was so definitely, incredibly, and _unbelievably_ wrong what Aaron had been doing in that damned SUV and he had been able to accept that much. But by the time that Aaron had reached the point in the dream in which he was fondling two perfect plentiful orbs for breasts he was in no position to have any conscience whatsoever; he might have ruined his pants if he had stopped there. _Oh yes, _Aaron Hotchner had known that he was going to Hell for what he was doing and to be doing it while on the job no less!

At the time however Aaron really hadn't cared, not when his button and fly had finally come undone and his hand was strategically placed between his thighs to hide his shame. It had been useless though, seeing how his guilty pleasure had been written all over his features. Shame combined with shameful indulgence had proven itself a powerful turn on, one that Aaron had no problem exploiting for his own selfish desires. Yes, he had not always been a candidate for sainthood for even Aaron Hotchner had dirty little secrets that possessed the threat of condemning him if they were ever to be found out about. And then, just as Murphy's Law predicts, anything that can go wrong, _will_ go wrong.

There was a gentle rhythmic tap at the window; the very sound that singled Aaron's whole world had been crashing down around him.

"Excuse me sir."

Desperate thoughts along the lines of "o_h shit, oh no!_" had run through Aaron's mind in a loop, over and over again, as if willing the_ intruder_ away with his brain power alone would have been enough.

"Can I help you with anything?"

It hadn't.

"Uhm, sir?"

As quickly as his hands could go he had done up and buttoned up his pants before unrolling the window separating he and stranger.

"Uh, no, I'm uh-" what had happened? Where had the silver-tongue, easy on the eyes, cool, calm and collected Aaron Hotchner had gone? He had never been one to shrink away from danger (or embarrassment for that matter) so why had he done exactly that?

Finally working up the nerve that he must have lost somewhere between _just one more stroke_ and sinfully sweet release, Aaron had turned his head to the left to see just who had interrupted him. Although he should have been grateful for as soon as he had been discovered he became flaccid and that was preferable to be seen sporting something the size of Texas below the belt.

"_Yesss?_"

_Oh._

_Wow._

She had been drop dead gorgeous.

"Aaron Hotchner, ma'am."

He hadn't known they made them like that: brilliant brown eyes, a pretty figure, and lips that he wanted to do awful things to.

"You can call me Emily, Aaron."

_Aaron who?_

Oh wait... she had meant _him._

_Awesome!_

"Or is it agent?"

_Hold the phone!_

Admittedly Aaron hadn't had much control of his jaw at the time but he would have remembered stating that he was working surveillance.

"Do I know you?"

No nonsense, the woman had schooled her expression to be totally deadpan. "You should seeing how I just introduced myself. Emily, remember?"

Maybe it had been the way that her sentence had hung in between the two of them with the air cold enough so that both could see their breath mingling. It could have been how she had raised both eyebrows elegantly and witch borderline impatience, something that Aaron had felt was familiar despite this being their first encounter. But what had really caught Aaron's attention had been the look in her dark chocolate eyes and a cool confidence that seemed as much a part of this woman as any tangible body part. Then as Aaron had been busying himself with minute details it had struck him with horror and embarrassingly enough, a sense of excitement.

"Prentiss?"

There had been no time for Aaron to pray that he was wrong since the second that he had muttered the first syllable of the infamous name a funny expression had taken over the lady's face; uncertainty and humour, disdain and amusement, yes and no.

"Does it really matter?"

_Oh God._

_Oh shit._

_Oh fuck._

"So you_ are_ Emily Prentiss?" He had asked with his eyes squeezed shut so that he hadn't been forced to watch the entertainment in her eyes. "Daughter of _Ambassador_ Prentiss?"

What had Aaron done? Pleasuring himself on the job was one thing (a totally inappropriate thing) but being caught _red-handed_ by the boss' hot daughter was a whole other dimension of Hell. Correction: Daughter. _Just _daughter. He could have been fired, he could have had his reputation dragged through the mud, he could have been made a laughingstock all because he had been bored and horny and in desperate need of release. Eyes opened, Aaron had let the evening breeze tickle his skin so that goosebumps occurred, and had braced himself for the inevitable.

"Don't worry I won't say a word."

Perhaps Aaron had underestimated this Emily character, maybe she was going to let this time slip, like a warning or something.

"Why?"

_'Playing with fire, Aaron.'_ The agent had reprimanded himself at the time. It was not the woman's job to protect Aaron's character but she had been gracious enough to let pretend as though it had happened nonetheless, as if she really hadn't walked by him jacking off in the front seat of an SUV while he was_ supposed_ to be on duty. Emily had offered him an opportunity to keep his reputation in tact and to keep what self-respect he had at the time and he had the nerve to question her motives? _'__Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.'_

At the Aaron's sputtering the woman had smiled softly but there had been something else, something knowing, and something sweet. These had not been words that Aaron had thought he would use to explain the pretty brunette standing on the outside of the SUV. Not that Aaron had even known enough about _Emily_ to describe her beyond what had been apparent in the black of the night: an aristocrat with nearly pitch-black hair and equally as dark eyes, an athletic build dressed in a trench that stopped a few inches above her knees, and strange but suitable features.

Something about this Emily-woman had left Aaron feeling... well he hadn't been sure just what he had been feeling at the time but it wasn't bad, it was simply different and entrancing and he bet that the young woman was used to it because she had really seemed the type to enrapture men and women alike.

The ambassador's daughter had this a way of speaking that had likely left people hanging on her every word; her tone had been teasing but compassionate but it was her body language that Aaron had been focusing on. Her actions had been confidant and why wouldn't they be when it was Aaron who had been in the vulnerable situation, being caught with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar, and her who had held the power in the situation? It had surprised him though, how, unlike any other person, she hadn't pounced on the opportunity to ruin him for a cheap laugh.

"Because I haven't outgrown my teenage years and I like to piss my parents off; I could really use something to hang over their head."

Fear and shock and anger had overcome Aaron because how could he have been so wrong about her and how could he have been so taken away by a woman that he had met five minutes ago? Worst yet: how could he have jumped to conclusions so easily? For all Aaron knew this had been an attempt to get a rise out of him.

"Or maybe because you seem like a good enough guy who was caught doing something completely natural in the wrong place and the wrong time."

Breath was expelled as Aaron had dropped his head back against the headrest of the driver's seat.

"So you're not going to tell your parents?"

Emily had smiled, soft and sweet, just like before, and instantly Aaron's nerves had settled. "If anyone asks I'll just tell them you were shaking hands with Mr Happy."

Just the way she had said it, even when Aaron was more humiliated than he had ever been, had caused laughter to break from him._ "Emily!"_

* * *

"Ha!"

It comes out as a bit of a scoff but the feeling of joy is present nonetheless.

"I _knew_ that you still smile."

Hotch shakes his head, trying to repress his smile but failing horribly at it, and turns to his fellow agent.

"I've forgotten just how," he pauses for a moment in search of the right word to use. "_Candid_ you can be, Agent Prentiss."

Addressing her as 'Agent Prentiss' earns Hotch another very_ Emily_ scoff. Because, really, who calls the person that caught them with their pants down _Agent Prentiss _as if there is any professionalism in what had transpired between the two of them how many odd years ago in that SUV?

"And it seems as though _I've_ forgotten just how good you are working with your hands, _Agent Hotchner_."

Disbelief and surprise come over Hotch's face like he should be blown away by how _candid_ Prentiss really can be. Her boss has known the feisty brunette for almost twenty years and she has just reminded him of how unabashed she had been about his masturbatory habits, but now it is Hotch's turn to be the superior in the story. Despite this Prentiss is as brazen as she had been when she was leaning against the door of the SUV on the side of the road what feels like ages ago.

"I never properly thanked you that night, did I?" There is a pause, silence, and in a second Hotch expects to hear crickets. "Prentiss?"

Out of the corner of his eye Hotch can see that Prentiss is looking at him with her cheek against the headrest and legs bent sideways while her lips are busy moving but no words are coming out. The unit chief wonders if he has said something wrong and he wants to amend his sentence and pretend as if they had never got on to this topic but Hotch is stopped short by Emily's incredulity.

"Thank me? For what exactly?"

_Wow, _this is not _nearly _as smooth and non-awkward as Hotch had hoped when he let the words slip out somehow.

"For not telling your parents, for not mentioning it before this, for not thinking less of me."

Deliberately not making eye-contact with the female agent beside him, Hotch grips the steering wheel and stares intently through the windshield, listening to the click of Prentiss undoing her seatbelt so that she can fold one leg under the other and put her hands in her lap.

"Hotch," she starts plainly but when she receives no response from her boss she presses it more. "Hotch, _look at me._"

_This is pathetic,_ Hotch tells himself as he moves to face Prentiss anyway. _I'm the boss, she should be taking orders from me._

When is Hotch sets his sights on her Emily feels her stomach churn and for only a split-second does she want to revoke her words. She moves one hand from her lap to where Hotch's is on the gear shift. She places her palms down on his arm, an inch from his wrist, and smiles a little.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

Well of course they are, doesn't she know that? _Of course she does, Aaron. Why else would she volunteer to be here? Why else would she put up with you?_

"Yeah." So it doesn't sound like much but Hotch can see his _friend's_ smile reach her deep brown eyes. "Thank you, Emily."

More silence filters through the SUV but it is comfortable and safe and kind of nice. Then, right when he feels completely right with the world Hotch is dragged back down.

"So if I didn't come along tonight would you have been fisting your mister?"

"Prentiss!"

Mirth dances in Prentiss' eyes and for something that can be absolutely no good it is so sweet to see. One part of Hotch wants to wipe that smug expression off of his agent's face while another wants to see it grow.

"What about getting to know yourself?"

Briefly the unit chief wonders if it would it bring too much attention to them if he were to slam his forehead against the steering wheel again and again until he can no longer see straight or hear the cheerily sardonic edge to Prentiss' jeers.

"I've always admired how you hold yourself, agent."

_'She is too happy. Way the fuck too happy right now.'_ Aaron curses as wills Emily to _shut up _with his mind.

"Come on, Hotch. A man like you can't mind a little manual labour."

Cruel, unforgiving and unholy wench.

"Think of it as engaging in some safe sex."

_"Emily."_

Giddy, Prentiss smirks wickedly at the subtle desperation in Hotch's tone and rebuts.

"Would you like to exercise your right to privacy?"

_Why? Why? Why? _

Could he threaten to kick her out of the car? Probably not considering that Prentiss has a pretty strong tackle and could do her share of damage to him, besides it _has_ been a while since her last caffeine drip so she could very well be more connected to her predatory and pissy side. Opting for life, Hotch remains silent.

"You were a lawyer, Hotch; did you ever badger your witness?"

Euphoric laughter spills from Prentiss' pretty lips and Hotch should really stop her playful verbal jabs but he cannot find it inside of him when she is grinning and being so free like this. It reminds Aaron of how Emily had been back then, so poised and perfect, too good to be true, with her mischievous eyes and her sly little smile.

Actually Hotch can still see so much of 'Agent Prentiss' in that young woman who had stopped at the side of the road, who had probably been curious and in search of a rush that was not at all uncommon for that age. All the unit chief has to do is watch the woman's eyes gleam at a joke being told or hear her speak about what it had been like growing up the way she had and it all comes back to him in a tidal wave accompanied by a red hot flash of embarrassment, and there they are with only their cold enough to see breath and the door of the SUV between one another.

_"Agent Prentiss."_

Hotch used to think, a lot more before rather than now, if Prentiss still remembers how they had first met. Well of course she does for it had been _she_ who had told _him_ the story, after all, but that is not what Hotch means. When Prentiss first came to work for the BAU, Aaron had been curious to know if Emily could still remember the day of the week they had met on or why she was even outside that late (or had it been _early_?) or the way that the dark sky was oddly barren of _everything_. Aircraft. Clouds. Stars. Just the moon, a sliver of it really, disappearing if you blinked.

"Oooh, pulling rank now are we?"

Sighing, Hotch rubbed his palm over his face. "I should have let you tell your parents, it would have been a far less cruel punishment than this."

The raven haired agent continues, ignoring her superior on one level and equal on another, her tone tainted with joviality. "You would have pleaded the fifth."

A friendship with Emily Prentiss had never and would never be boring.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Not graphic enough? Not in character enough? Not realistic enough of a situation? I don't know so you tell me ;).


End file.
